Richard woke up earlier than usual. Even before the sun came up, he was already dressed and pacing around his living room. He felt everything at once — excitement, nervousness, confusion, and somewhere underneath it all, a quiet happiness.

Today was his first official day standing before the national coaching staff as the new Head Coach of the United States National Swimming Team.

He arrived at the national stadium thirty minutes before the meeting. The hall was large, bright, and already filled with coaches murmuring among themselves. These were seasoned men and women, some who had been in this system longer than Richard had even been alive. They weren't going to be easy to convince.

Richard walked in calmly, his face completely neutral. No emotion. No smile. No hesitation.

The moment he stepped inside, conversations died down. A few recognized him instantly, and their whispers spread across the hall. Some were surprised. Others hesitant. A few looked annoyed.

Richard stepped forward, took the mic, and tapped it twice.

Tap. Tap.

The room went silent.

"Good morning," he began. "Some of you know me. Most of you don't. But every one of you has heard something — either about me or about the athletes I've worked with."

He scanned the room slowly, letting his presence settle.

"The reason we're here is simple. As of today, I am the Head Coach of the United States National Swimming Team."

A ripple of shock moved through the hall.

Richard raised a hand. "Before anything continues, if you don't want to work with me, you can walk out right now. No penalty. No punishment. Your salary stays intact. You leave with your dignity."

Heads turned. Whispers rose.

But nobody moved.

Richard nodded once. "Good."

He continued, steady and firm. "I'll be direct. This year's Olympics will be one of the toughest in U.S. history. We all know why. We lost coaches, we lost structure, and we lost most athletes due to the drug scandal. We were supposed to be preparing to go to the Olympics, yet now we have to redo the trials of some specific categories, and we need at least a month or two."

He paused deliberately.

"Instead… we were given two weeks."

The entire room murmured. Some shook their heads. One coach raised his voice, "Two weeks isn't even enough to hold trials for this competition!"

Another added, "We don't have the time, the structure, or the system—"

Richard hit the mic lightly again. Tap.

Silence.

"Exactly," he said. "We don't have time for traditional trials. So we are not doing traditional trials."

Coaches exchanged confused glances.

Richard signaled to his assistant. Boxes of printed booklets were carried down each row and passed out.

"In your hands," Richard said, "are the athletes I have chosen to represent the United States for this Olympic cycle."

Gasps filled the room.

"WHAT?!"

"This is impossible!"

"Some of these athletes don't even have Olympic Times!"

"How can you pick people who haven't qualified?!"

Richard allowed the noise for a few seconds, then he shut it down:

Tap. Tap.

"You're all asking how these athletes qualify without OQT, right?" Richard said. "Good. I'll explain."

He lowered the mic slightly and leaned forward, tone firm.

"Me and my team analyzed every available athlete. We studied their past races, strengths, weaknesses, recovery rates, habits, and potential ceilings. These names," he tapped the booklet, "are swimmers who already have the raw ability to reach Olympic standard — but they lack fine tuning."

He held up two fingers.

"And we have two weeks to fix that."

One coach scoffed loudly, "Two weeks?! That's a joke—"

Richard cut in immediately. "Two weeks is what we have. So two weeks is what we use. I'm just stating the facts."

He continued.

"The Olympic Committee will send evaluators. They will test these swimmers internally. Whoever hits the time — goes. Whoever doesn't — stays home."

He pointed at the booklet.

"Each of you has been assigned athletes according to your past experience and coaching specialty. Their weaknesses are listed. Their strengths are listed. Your job is to correct those weaknesses and push them past the line."

He straightened.

"I am giving you every resource you will need — nutrition, physiotherapists, recovery tech, pool access, time slots, medical checks. Everything."

The room quieted.

Richard's voice hardened.

"But if you know you cannot deliver in two weeks… leave now. Because after these two weeks, if your athlete does not meet the required standard, you are out of this team."

A few people gasped sharply. Others clenched their jaws.

Richard wasn't smiling.

"I don't care what you think about my approach. I don't care what you think about the pressure. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And right now, we are desperate."

He paused again.

"We either rebuild the team… or we collapse on the world stage."

Another wave of murmurs moved around the hall. They weren't happy. They weren't comfortable. But none of them moved for the door.

Richard said with a small nod, "no one is leaving?. Good."

He stepped away from the podium slightly.

"Let me make something very clear. We are not doing this for pride, ego, rivalry, or personal beef. We are doing this for the United States. For the athletes who sacrificed years. For the flag they wear when they swim."

His voice softened just a little.

"I know exactly how this feels. I have been thrown out of this system before. I have been framed. I have been ruined. And yet here I am again, choosing to rebuild the same team that abandoned me."

Every coach fell silent.

"This is my redemption arc. And it might be yours too. We're either going to walk into Paris as underdogs who shocked the world… or we're going to walk in as the team that drowned before reaching the ocean."

He nodded at them.

"You now know your athletes. You know your assignments. You know the deadline."

Richard turned slightly.

"I've sent emails to each athlete. They should start arriving soon. Once they arrive, your two-week clock begins."

He took a step back from the microphone.

"In two weeks, we will meet here again. And I will evaluate every result myself."

"And remember, stay away from using anything implicating because eyes are on us now."

A long pause.

"Meeting dismissed."

Richard walked out with the same calm expression he came in with.

Behind him, the hall exploded into confused chatter, buzzing frustration, reluctant acceptance — but also something else:

A spark.

The beginning of something big.

And none of them knew that the spark came from one athlete in particular.

Dayo.

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